Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“There’s no reason for you to lug that—”
“I have it,” Rose said, and she turned her back on me and wheeled her luggage up the stone steps to the Astrids’ manor.
When I saw the look of devastation on her face when Rose realized what I had handed her, I was filled with a gleeful satisfaction. I was showing her the truth, setting her free.
As I watched her walk away from me with a tightness in her shoulders that wasn’t there before, I wondered if maybe I had been selfish. What if my actions didn’t free her, but dragged her further into the depths of hell with me?
An uncomfortable guilt grew in my chest again. It was this guilt that always constantly ate at you. This was the reason Catholics drank.
I had more to do today. Meetings that required my presence. It was the only reason I had come back. First, though, whisky. I needed whisky.
Pressing my palm into my chest, trying to rub away the uncomfortable feeling, I pulled back into traffic and headed to the Irish pub a few blocks from the church.
I was there for over twenty minutes, and three double pours in before Declan could be bothered to grace me with his presence.
Taking the barstool next to mine, he signaled the bartender for another round. I didn’t bother turning to look at him. Instead, I stared at his reflection in the mirror. I had been trying to force myself to look at my own reflection for the last half hour.
I hadn’t been able to do it. I couldn’t meet my eye with the amount of shame building in my soul.
“Did you get it?” Declan asked after the bartender dropped our drinks off and headed to tend to someone else.
“I did,” I said, handing him the leather satchel and downing my drink before grabbing the fresh one. The burn going down my throat was harsh. It tasted like paint thinner.
That’s what you got when drinking the bottom shelf swill.
He took the satchel and went through the papers.
“Why do you even serve this shit?” I asked, setting down the offending glass and pushing it away from me.
“Why the fuck are you ordering from the bottom shelf?” Declan asked.
Still staring up into the mirror, I could see him turn to look at me, one eyebrow raised.
“Because it’s a penance, not a celebration,” I answered, a little more truthfully than I was comfortable with.
Declan looked at me for another moment, confused, then shrugged like it was none of his concern, because it wasn’t.
“It looks like you’re missing some information here,” he said, stuffing the papers back into the leather bag.
“Nope, the files you asked for and the money that bitch stole from you are all there.”
“It’s not all here,” he countered, pulling his gun out and setting it on the polished wood counter.
I considered lying for a moment, but then I realized I really just did not give a single fuck what this Irish bastard thought.
“I took out the files on my family, and then I went through all the other files on all the other corrupt, rich-as-fuck, powerful families in the city and took out anything that associated my family with theirs.”
“That wasn’t the deal,” he growled.
“It’s the new deal,” I said, taking a sip of the fresh glass of whisky that was filled with one of my family’s better labels. “Besides, I was doing you a favor.”
“How do you consider stealing from me a favor?” he sneered, picking up his own glass.
“My brother is cutting ties with the mafia. He wants to go legit. It will help ensure his wife’s safety. Less risk of getting shot and all that. This is a way for that to happen cleanly without death on either side. It’s already been a long fucking day. Are we done here?”
“Taking your family’s file was not part of our agreement.”
“Part of our agreement or not, it’s a pile of ash. My family is officially no longer in business with yours,” I said, swirling the dark amber liquid in the crystal tumbler, watching the single large ice cube spin.
“You realize that means we’re no longer friends,” Declan said with an edge to his voice. A weaker man would cower when a man like Declan used that tone. A smarter man would have been a bit more reverent, or at the very least cautious.
“Oh no.” I slap my hand on the side of my face. “Does that mean no more sleepovers where we braid each other’s hair?”
“No, it means no more favors.” I could feel Declan’s glare staring a hole into the side of my head.
“I understand. I’ll make sure my father does as well.”
“Then we are done here.” He stood from the bar and grabbed the bag, turning to leave.
“Wait,” I called, turning around and grabbing his arm. He looked down at me and then at the place where my hand was gripping his shirt.